Piece by Piece

by Tucker, RH

  “I just thought he might’ve initiated this first. I guess I’m nervous. He agreed to the terms, but he can do whatever he wants, you know? I don’t want to be some backup plan for him or someone he calls on after being with someone else and wanting a pallet cleanser.”

  “Ew,” she laughs. “You should text him then.”

  “I don’t want to be the first person to initiate this thing.”

  She laughs again as I turn on the car. “You want the dinner, but you don’t want to hunt for it.”

  Glancing over at her, I see she’s giggling to herself, and I scoff. “You are being so helpful tonight.”

  Leaning over, she hugs me before I start driving out of the parking lot. “Stop. Let’s just go get some milkshakes, then head back to your place, and veg out on some Netflix or something.”

  “Might as well.” I shrug, trying to fight off the urge to once again look at my phone.

  Chapter 12

  Taylor

  I’ve been back home for three days. Okay, technically it’s only been a day and a half, but I’m counting the late-night arrival, and this half day so far as a full day.

  I’m doing my best to act as normal as possible, but it’s difficult. If I was just around my parents, it might be okay, but being back home is weird. Santa Monica is a big city, but our little neighborhood is close. My best friends growing up lived only a street away from me. The school we went to was within walking distance. And not to mention, Reese’s family, who live next door to my family.

  When my parents moved to Irvine, they kept the house and we moved into a two-bedroom apartment because they always wanted to come back to Santa Monica. When they finally did move back, it was almost like they never left.

  It was AJ’s birthday two days ago, and he asked if I’d come to his party. I couldn’t say no, no matter how bad I might’ve wanted to. Not because of him, but because I knew I’d be around people I grew up with. And since I haven’t been home, I knew my parents would harass me to stay. Plus, I do feel guilty since I haven’t been back home since Christmas last year.

  The awkwardness of being around everyone—AJ’s parents, my family, some mutual family friends—it all makes my skin crawl. I do my best to put on a smile, laugh at the right jokes, and make small talk. I think everyone buys it, except for Cynthia. Ever since everything happened, it feels like she knows what I’m thinking. We’ve talked before, but it never helps. Nothing helps.

  Sitting in the backyard, my father and Anthony are going back and forth, arguing about their favorite team’s playoff chances, while we have a small barbecue. I could’ve probably left this morning, but I know my mom wanted me to stay. It’s not like I don’t want to be around her or my father, but it’s so hard.

  “Taylor, would you mind helping me with these?” Cynthia asks, breaking through my fakeness of paying attention to Anthony and my dad talking. She picks up a few cups from the table on our patio.

  “Sure,” I answer, grabbing the remaining two plastic cups and the plates we ate our grilled burgers and hotdogs on.

  “It was certainly nice having you back in town,” she calls over her shoulder as we head into my parents’ kitchen. “I know your mom loves having you home.”

  “Yeah, it was nice.” My hope that she can’t tell I’m lying is dashed as she throws me a glance, putting the cups into the sink.

  “I know we saw you recently, but I just wanted to ask …” Great, here it comes. “How are you? Really?”

  “I’m fine. Honestly.” I do my best to make my smile seem as genuine as I can. “Things are good.”

  “Good,” she replies with a grin. “I didn’t ask, but I wanted to … are you seeing anyone?”

  Staring into the sink, I steady my breathing and shake my head. I really don’t want to do this.

  “She’d want you to move on.” She leans against the sink, rubbing my forearm.

  I’ve known her since I was a baby. She’s been best friends with my mom since they were in middle school. So it’s hard to reply with anything except acceptance, not only because she’d know her own daughter, but she knows me almost as well as my own mother does. I simply nod.

  “I know it was difficult, but you have your whole life—”

  “Please don’t,” I stop her. I can take her telling me things like I need to move on. It’s true. But telling me how long I have to look forward to is something I don’t like to think about.

  “I’m just saying, we all want you to be happy, Taylor. Anthony and me. Your parents. She would, too. You can’t blame yourself forever.”

  Yes I can. “I know. Thank you.” I lean over to her, giving her a hug. “I think I’m gonna take off.”

  “Okay.” Her soft smile follows her word. “Feel free to visit anytime. AJ loves hanging out with you still.”

  “All right. I’ll keep that in mind.” I won’t.

  After saying good-byes to everyone else, I head out to my bike in the driveway. I haven’t hit up Sasha yet. I’m still concerned this isn’t the best situation we should have between us, and to be honest, I’ve thought about calling it off since that morning. But right now, I’m glad I haven’t.

  Me: Hey, what are you doing?

  Sasha: Hanging out at Venice Beach with Tara. You?

  Me: I’m in Santa Monica but on my way home. Want to hang out tonight?

  Sasha: LOL

  Sasha: Is that what you’re going to call it?

  Me: Did you have a different phrase for it?

  Sasha: I guess not. We’ll be here on the beach for a bit. Want to meet up here first?

  I pause and take a deep breath. I don’t want to, but I don’t want to be a jerk either.

  Me: Sure. Why not.

  Sasha: Okay, don’t get too excited ;P

  Me: I’ll save the excitement for later tonight. Send me the location.

  The drive from Santa Monica to Venice Beach goes quickly on my bike. If there’s something other than girls and lifting weights that take my mind off of what I don’t like to think about, speeding along on my red and black Kawasaki Ninja 300 is it. I know it’s dangerous, but I’ve already seen and felt what real danger feels like on four wheels and with a safety belt in place. Speeding along on two wheels going ninety miles per hour is exhilarating.

  Even getting to the beach, and wanting to forget these last few days around my family and the life I used to have, my mind still wars with meeting up with Sasha. Sure, I’ll be able to forget everything I want to, but getting close to her isn’t going to help me in the long run either.

  By the time I find her and her friends, the sun’s already set, and as I’m walking over to them, she smiles.

  It’s nothing. I just need to forget. Please?

  I grit my teeth, annoyed at talking to myself again. I really hope I’m not schizophrenic.

  “Hey.” Sasha keeps her warm smile, meeting me in the sand. “I wasn’t sure if you were gonna hit me up.”

  I flash a crooked grin. “I thought you said this went both ways. I was waiting for you to text first since I know you want me.”

  She shakes her head with a smirk. “Cocky bastard. And for the record, I can get along fine without you. I can’t say the same for you.”

  “Right,” I draw out the word.

  “You don’t mind hanging out?”

  “No, it’s cool. I could use the distraction. I was away visiting my family for the last couple of days.”

  “Oh,” she answers with a slight cringe. “Don’t get along with them very well?”

  “It’s not that. I just …” I look past her, and see Tara smiling at us. Rita, I think, also next to her and a couple guys eyeing me suspiciously. Maybe I could tell her something. Definitely not the truth, but something. I just don’t want to get into it right now. “It’s nothing. What are you guys doing?” I nod past her, to her friends. “Telling ghost stories and making s’mores?”

  Catching me off guard, she takes my hand and leads me to her friends. “The s’mores, yes. Tara love
s them. Ghost stories, no.”

  Tara says hi, and I’m reintroduced to Rita again, then meet Ian and Manny, who Sasha works with. After meeting him, I recognize Manny from the night outside of the restaurant. Ian looks at me kind of funny, almost in an untrusting sort of way.

  I don’t interject as they talk, instead opting to just sit by and respond when questioned. It’s a very ‘family vibe’ with them all, which I only really feel now with Micah. With Ethan and Calvin, when we hang out, it’s either at the gym or at a club. Party time, twenty-four-seven, which I’m fine with. It’s fun to let loose, not have to think too deeply or worry about people wanting to talk about broader issues.

  Micah’s different. He knows what I’ve been through, and I’ve been there for him in the past. I’m an only child, but he’s the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had. Other than the relationship I have with AJ. Sasha and her friends, even as they throw joking shots back and forth, all exchanging laughs, really feel close.

  “I gotta get going,” Manny says, getting to his feet. “We have that extra prep work tomorrow morning for that event Adam’s hosting tomorrow.” He looks at Ian, who nods. I notice Ian gives Sasha a hug, but only waves bye to Tara and Rita, before giving me a side-eye glance.

  With Tara and Rita exchanging whispered giggles, they walk back to the parking lot, leaving Sasha and myself trailing behind.

  I lean in closer to Sasha. “So, want to head back to my place?”

  “Actually, would you mind coming back to mine? I live with my sister, and she’s going out tonight with friends from work. She’ll probably be out late.”

  “I don’t know.” I don’t mind staying at the girl’s place, but after the last couple of days I’ve had, I kind of just want to be home in my own comfort zone.

  “Okay,” she replies, still smiling. “I’ll go back to your place, but we have to cuddle since I don’t have my pillows. And I want breakfast in bed.”

  “Wow, demanding much? Plus, you’re the chef around here.”

  “I know. And if we stay at my place, I’ll have my pillows and my own food in my fridge.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.”

  “Besides, I think it’s your turn to do the walk of shame.” We’ve arrived at her car, a gray Toyota Corolla in good condition. She giggles, grabbing my hands, and leans back against the door.

  “Ain’t no shame in my game. You should know that by now,” I reply.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Why not,” I whisper, leaning closer.

  She wraps her arms around my neck, her lips brushing against mine. “Why not. Such a swoon-worthy reply. You really know how to charm a girl.”

  There are these moments I’ve been trying to block out when it comes to Sasha, but I can’t. The moments right before we kiss. She’s not shy or timid. She knows what she wants, and I like that about her. But kissing her, she lingers just in front of me, and her scent floats around. It’s almost like she waits for a split-second so that I have to get closer to her. And when I do—and my fingers float over her skin, and our noses brush against one another just before our lips do—it feels like so much more than a regular kiss. It feels like my body, my entire being, is drawn to her. Like I’m chilled to the bone and only when our lips connect, and I have my hands on her and hers on me, like we are now, that I’m warmed.

  I’ve only ever felt that way with one other person. A piece of me never thought I’d feel that again, and a different piece of me tells me I have no right to feel that with someone else. I’ve been trying to block those feelings out. But every time we’re together, it gets more and more difficult.

  Chapter 13

  Sasha

  Friends with benefits. Monogamously uncommitted. Two people sleeping together, who verbally say they aren’t a couple, while their actions prove otherwise. Whatever you want to call what it is Taylor and I are doing, and no matter what I keep telling myself, I can’t help it. I like him. And if I needed any further proof of that fact, there was the constant teasing from Tara and Rita last night, after he texted me, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

  This is so not a good idea.

  I didn’t lie about my pillows. I have seven of them; all soft and fluffy. I love them. They match my lavender sheets and extra comfy comforter that keeps me warm all of the time. However, none of that stops me from snuggling closer to him, glad his subconscious brain doesn’t listen to his conscious mind about cuddling. With his arms around me, I bury my face into him, breathing in his scent, now mixing of my sheets and the leftover beach night breeze.

  Really, this is so not a good idea.

  He stirs a little, and I look up at him thinking he’s about to wake, but he doesn’t. Lightly, I run my finger over the scar under his eye. His head gives a subtle shake, and his eyes clench tighter. He whispers something, but I can’t understand what it is.

  Seeming to settle back down, his face eases for a moment before he turns on his side and lets out a low sounding growl.

  “No … please …”

  I sit up, unsure what to do, as he starts to toss and turn. “Taylor,” I whisper to him.

  “Reese …”

  Pulling my arm back from lightly shaking him awake, I watch him fight with whatever’s going on in his mind. He looks like he’s struggling with something. I want to help him somehow, but the name is stuck in my mind. Who’s Reese?

  “Please …” His whispers sound almost pained.

  Even though I’m confused as to what’s going on in his mind, he still looks hurt. “Taylor.” His arms move to the side, and I shake him a little harder. “Taylor, you’re dreaming. Taylor.”

  “No!” he screams, sitting up in the bed, his chest heaving.

  Settling next to him, I wrap the comforter around myself, unsure how to react. He looks around the room and then his eyes meet mine. For a moment, it seems like he doesn’t recognize me. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he scans my room again, then looks back at me and lays down.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah … yeah. I’m fine.”

  He doesn’t look at me. Throwing his arm over his forehead, he stares up at the ceiling. I lay back down next to him, lightly running my hand over his arm, unsure how to react and wanting to know what and who he was dreaming about.

  “Are you sure? That didn’t sound fine.”

  He shrugs off my hand, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s nothing. Just a bad dream.”

  I’m not sure how to respond or what to do. Something is going on, and now my mind’s racing with what that could be. Do I bring up the name? Is it something serious from his past or something that’s going on right now?

  Taking a chance, I move closer to him, leaning my head on his shoulder. My fingers lightly run over the scars along his arm. “Taylor, if you need to talk, it’s okay. You can talk to me if you want.”

  A wave of rejection hits me followed by a chill as he pushes my hand off of him and stands up. “I told you, it’s nothing. There’s nothing to talk about.” He grabs his pants from the floor, pulling them on, then sits back down, putting his socks on.

  “You’re leaving?”

  His eyes finally find mine again, as he’s slipping on a shoe. “We’re done, aren’t we?”

  Any worry over what he was dreaming about, or sympathy and wanting to comfort him, washes away. Finding his shirt on the floor, I get off the bed and pick it up, throwing it in his face before walking out of my room. “Yeah. We’re done.”

  Leaving my room, I head to the bathroom, slamming the door shut after entering. I lean over the counter and take a deep breath, trying to remember that we aren’t a couple. We aren’t anything. I set this up, so I have no reason to be mad at him, but I am.

  “Hey.” I hear my sister’s muffled voice outside of the bathroom door. “Taylor, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Everything okay? And before you answer that, I do own pepper spray and a taser, so choose your words wisely.”

  I lightly c
huckle at my sister’s words but hear silence from Taylor.

  “Yeah, everything’s fine. Can you … can you just tell her I said sorry when she comes out.”

  “If everything’s fine, why do I have to tell her you’re sorry?”

  More silence. I lean closer to the door.

  “You’re a good sister,” he answers her, and I can hear the smile in his words. He’s back to laying on his charm. “I’m just an asshole, that’s all. Please?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks.”

  I wait for the front door to open and close, then finally stick my head out. Felicia is leaning against our door, arms crossed. “So, he’s hot as hell and an asshole? That’s a combination just asking for trouble.”

  “Yeah.” I walk past her and into the kitchen.

  She follows me in, wearing her cozy pjs and slippers, as I open the fridge, grabbing some eggs, and then a mixing bowl. Felicia gets a bag of coffee, and starts filling up the coffee pot with water. “You want to tell me what that was about?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer, whisking the eggs. Setting the bowl down, I reach for a pan and turn on the stove.

  “You guys aren’t even a couple, and you’re already arguing?”

  I shake my head, some pieces of hair falling out of my messy bun. “We weren’t arguing, Licia.”

  “Why was he apologizing then?”

  Letting out a huff in frustration, I move around her and grab some spices from a shelf, returning to the pan. “It’s nothing.”

  “Then why are you cooking eggs?”

  I move the eggs around in the pan, staring at them in thought. I love cooking, and sometimes I do it because I want to eat. Sometimes I get in the zone and make dinner for us that I just want to smell, look, and taste amazing. Whisking, grilling, chopping—it all has a calming effect over me, especially at home. But I hate eggs. We have them because Felicia likes them, and for some reason, I cook them when I’m upset or annoyed.